


you know the two of us are just young gods

by OliveYou



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gods and Goddesses, ROMANCE!!!, Reincarnation, dragons!, elves!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 07:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliveYou/pseuds/OliveYou
Summary: "The first time they meet, they are young, foolish, and anxious to start living. She appears, in regal splendor and beauty, both pride and prideless, timeless in all her glory.And yet, he is not afraid."(a god and a goddess, and how nothing lasts forever)





	you know the two of us are just young gods

**Author's Note:**

> just posting some old original stuff?? i'll never use these ocs again I dont think, but they were the god of the elves and the goddess of dragons and they loved each other wow surprise much  
> his name is levvan. i kept forgetting his name so now the doc is "hisnameislevvan" in my folder  
> her name is uhh beathaneau? i was into making up my own names then ahaha
> 
> title from halsey because. they're literally young gods.

**I.**

The first time they meet, they are young, foolish, and anxious to start living. She appears, in regal splendor and beauty, both pride and prideless, timeless in all her glory.

And yet, he is not afraid.

They are Young Gods (but are there Old Gods?), immortal but unsure of immortality and he is not afraid—his pride will not allow it.

But still, she is ancient, still wise, still years above him—despite the youngness of her earth, her race, for he knows that those which inhabit this land are not her own—and still she is old.

She is Time itself, eternal and irreplaceable and galaxies are held in her eyes, forever and endless. This he knows, without any doubt, because he can see her burning suns and silver moons, and he _may_ be afraid.

But he will not show it. Never.

(They are impatient, and after curt words and goodbyes are exchanged, he returns to his people and she to her dragons.)

**II.**

"What do you want?"

He is weaker than he has ever been before, aching from years of civil war and death, and so he grits his teeth and looks determinedly at his feet. He _cannot_ , _will_ _not_ , never in a million years _look_ _into her eyes_ , because to let her see his weakness will break him. His remaining shred of pride is _screaming_ at him—pride for his people, pride for himself—and it takes an enormous amount of willpower to not snap at her question.

"I'm asking for a favor." He says carefully, for the first time in his life choosing his words, planning his moves—this is for his people, not him, and it's a mantra he repeats, to his broken pride and broken bones.

"Go on."

One, two, three, four—he counts his words and his breaths and _prays_ , because _really_ , he has _nowhere else to go_ —and he wills himself to speak—to the floor, if not to her face.

"We need a place to stay. Somewhere safe, somewhere to be treated. I've got plague, wars, death—my people deserve better than this. Please." The "please" alone is enough to make his sores flare up and his arm immediately begins to ache, but this is not for him, it is for his people, his Elves, whose pride is more valuable and whose health is more important than anything he could ever know. He hesitates—should he add anything, did he say it right—and now this is in her hands, and his survival, his _life_ , belongs to her.

"Why do you not look to my eyes?"

And he snaps.

That last bit of self-control, the part that kept him from _screaming_ at her, the part that led him here—it's gone. And now he has hot, angry flames and possibly tears at the edges of his vision, sharp, stinging pride and pain and he drops his walls and looks straight into those _horrible, terrible, worthless eyes of hers—_

_"You want to know why I don't look into your eyes?"_

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, and to him, it's a good one—this is his element, to be angry and reckless, to fight and rage and yell, and the fear on her face makes it all the better.

"It's because a thing called _pride,_ genius _._ Not that you have any—your people are pretty _worthless_ to you, aren't they? Just _puppets_ , for you to play around with? Yeah, I thought so—it's all about secrets and mysteries for you, _huh_ ? Give me a yes! Give me no! _Frankly, I don't care anymore—_ "we've gotten along just _fine_ before _you_ came, and we'll be _fine_ without your _so-called help._

Except, as soon as he runs out of words he regrets everything—to refuse help is akin to _suicide_ , they're _dead_ without somebody on their side. Although, if he begins now, he might be able to rescue a select few—but they all deserve reincarnation, and he doesn't have the time or power to help them, and he is in no condition to fight by their side, to lead their troops and protect their people.

He doesn't deserve their loyalty. Not anymore.

"I will help you."

Whatever flash of sadness or fear she had before, it has vanished, other than her glassy eyes and slight tremor of her voice. She dips her head—avoiding _his_ eyes—and he feels strangely humbled.

"Thank you."

**III.**

He hasn't told her about the Names. She'll find out soon enough.

(And maybe, a part of him wants her to, wants her to like it.)

**IV.**

His feet hit the ivory floors, silently making his way through the palace he still feels like he has no right to enter—A literal Castle In The Sky, accessible only to those of the heavens—and to him.

Other gods, _plural_ , but it has been several millennia and he's never seen hide nor hair of anybody other than him and her.

Just them.

(It's almost lonely.)

Her servants—and she has many—send him on his way, making sure he doesn't snoop around or mess something up. Which he might, if they let him. But not this time.

"Welcome."

Her voice echoes around the empty space, rising and falling like a waterfall, lyrical whispers surrounding him.

He dares to look up.

And she is _alive_ , clothed only by the light of her existence and her vast oceans of hair, and she is not ashamed.

(Secretly, he wonders if he has come to love her.)

**V.**

"You keep coming to visit me," she notes, softly as always, and he shrugs.

"Is that a bad thing?" His voice is rough, trying his best to leave the silence and stillness undisturbed. He doesn't quite make it, wincing at the echo, the sound grating against the peaceful, _empty_ walls.

"I don't believe so." Her voice is tinged with a light sort of mirth, and he is glad to hear it. She has begun to loosen up—smiles more, talks more, words animated and bright—and, well, if he's honest, it's sort of his doing. He can brag too, can't he?

"Good." He wonders how she feels, sometimes. How that mysterious mind of hers works, if she feels emotions in the same way as him.

If she lives like him, passionate and full, putting everything he's got into everything he does; if she loves like him, awkwardly but truly.

(Probably not. She is too prudent for that, too wise.)

**VI.**

The last time they meet, it is after the sky has turned dark and the stars have started to fall—a beautiful, if damaging, display.

She stands there, surrounded by stardust and light, like she always has been. He stands in her shadow—a place he has long gotten used to, where it is dark and things are easily missed.

How ironic, that the god who wanted to help would end up as invisible. How ironic, that the goddess of distance would take the lead in this play.

"And so, this is the end..." She murmurs, watching herself begin to fade. "My part in this the world has finished, and another will come to take my place, like all before and all beneath." She looks up to face him, glowing like the sun itself—she was the sun, and he was the moon. Fitting.

Silence is all he can say, really. It's... it's better this way, watching things close. He knows, knows there were _others_ , but where, when, _how_ did they come? It doesn't quite matter anymore, but he's still scared of the end.

Endings were never his strong suit. Beginnings—now, that's something he can get behind.

"Where to now?" he asks, no longer hesitant to speak his mind—she'll listen, like she always has, behind closed doors or in open halls.

She thinks. It's beautiful when she thinks.

"I suppose we are reborn," she finally says, settling on a safe answer—the right one, nobody knows. He's alright with it, as long as she is. "It... may be that we meet each other, again, in another life."

 _Another life_. How typical of her, to say something mysterious and hopeful like that.

"Scared?"

She catches a star in her palm, light illuminating the night.

"A little."

He chuckles, eyes focused on the moon, glassy and milky white. His mind goes farther, deeper.

"So am I."

Something bursts—life doesn't end, never completely. There _will_ be more, he just won't be around to see it. A pity.

"Well..." He turns around, facing his goddess (oh, she was always to be worshipped, in a quiet and unassuming way) and grins in the face of disaster.

"I'll see you on the other side, princess."

**Author's Note:**

> i had so many ocs but i threw em away bc their designs were just pictures i got off the internet (i was young okay)  
> but i still think about them sometimes  
> i miss u n&b


End file.
